The Untold Age
by SaschaKonietzko
Summary: a war wizard encounters the fellowship at Amon Hen, to find her own path and walk into the Untold Age. Warning: creative liberties taken with Tolkien's work Warning: Mary Sue storyline
1. chapter 1 the UrukHai

First of all: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters, settings or any part of Lord of the Rings that is used in this piece of fanfiction.  
  
Second of all: Yes, this is a Mary-Sue fanfic, but I am doing my best to keep it somewhat readable and enjoyable. It all started because of a thread on the IMDB Orlando Bloom Forum when another member suggested we "describe a day we would spend with Orlando". I decided to take it on a spin and use a variated version of a Dungeons+Dragons character of mine interjected into the story, and it sort of took off from there and took on a life of it's own. Though it begins during events of the books/movie, it continues past Tolkien's story and into it's own.  
  
Damiarena had been tracking a large hoarde of uruk-hai for several nights. When she had first come upon their tracks, she had been astounded that the orcs could travel by day. Her foreboding grew as she drew nearer. These were not ordinary orcs, the devilry of Saruman was apparent. He was growing in power, as was Isengard. "The palantir..." she muttered to herself as she stalked through the forest, skirting the trail to Amon Hen.   
  
I knew he was falling from grace... if only I could have found a way to stop him... now I fear it is too late. Sauron has a hold of him, and he will not relent until all of Middle-Earth is crushed beneath his grasp. I pray that I do not follow in my father's footsteps. I never imagined he would be capable of such a thing, the leader of the council, deceiving everyone... deceiving me... if I, as his daughter, am not safe from his velvet tongue and veiled deceipt... then no one is. What of Gandalf the Grey? Would a Maia as powerful as he know of this treachery... I fear to hope, but that is all I have...  
  
She pushed the disquieting thoughts out of her mind as she paused to survey the sky. The patches of dark blue sky visible through the tall canopy of trees seemed to be brighter, the stars dimmer. Dawn was approaching. It had been days since she'd slept. Yet such a vast number of uruk-hai, determined on reaching whatever goal in their sights, she took as a grave omen of evil. She had to find out what or whom they were searching for, and foreboding grew heavy in her heart since Damiarena knew that she would have to stop them.   
  
I can only pray to the good spirits that Gandalf knows of this treachery... he would know what action is necessary... if only I could find him.   
  
She had let her weariness slow her down during the past night, and the tireless uruk-hai were several miles ahead of her, so she quickened her pace to bridge the gap.   
  
Just remember what the ranger taught you... keep an eye on your enemy, but do not let your enemy feast their eyes on you....   
  
By mid-afternoon her muscles were burning with exertion, and sweat dripped into her eyes, but the image of the palantir glowing with an eerie light, and her father's hand upon it, kept her moving.   
  
Suddenly, the ring of steel against steel and war-cries assailed her ears. The uruk-hai had either met resistance, or reached their goal. She drew her bow and forced her aching legs to carry her faster, onward. Bounding over rock, root and bush, she finally came within sight of dozens of uruk-hai scampering towards the ruins of the what once was the tower of Amon Hen. She fit an arrow to her bow and sought cover.   
  
...do not let your enemy feast their eyes on you... not until it's too late and their eyes are shut for the final time....   
  
As she focused on her target, the din of battle faded in her ears to a dull roar. Using a technique taught to her by the Maiar, she imagined the arrow being drawn to the target, the exposed line of flesh between chest-plate and helmet of an unwary uruk. In her mind, that tiny line of grey flesh became all of her vision, the arrow sailed through the air and the uruk fell to the ground in a heap of flesh and armour. Her first victim had not even hit the forest floor when another arrow was flying from her bow, finding the target with ease and yet another uruk took a fatal hit to the throat. Damiarena fired off a half-dozen more arrows, and moved silently through the trees, always forward. Leaving dozens of bodies in her wake, she made her way to Amon Hen, where the sounds of battle rang fierce and bloody. She ran full-speed up the hillside, and quickly the battle at hand was revealed to her eyes.   
  
I must have fallen under some spell... how could this be?   
  
Below the ruins, letting loose a deadly barrage of arrows, was Legolas Greenleaf. It had been years since Damiarena had been in the halls of Thranduil's kingdom. It had been years since she had laid eyes on the elven archer, his piercing gaze, the graceful way he took every step,. the lilt in his gentle voice as he spoke her name.   
  
Just over two hundred years... so little time for an elf... even for one of half the blood as myself... yet it seems an eternity when one must leave that which one values the most... and an eternity is not enough time to heal old wounds or forget scars of times past...  
  
She was shaken out of her reverie by the sound of a large, armour-clad foot stepping behind her. She suspected the uruk had believed itself to be stealthy, but not to her trained ears. In a flash, quicker than the uruk could make it's felling blow, she drew her sword with one hand, and hooked her bow on her back with the other.   
  
"Yrch!" she spat the word venomously as she brought her sword up in a parry, locking her gaze with that of the creature's yellow eyes. In what seemed to be one motion, she snapped her foot up and behind the orc's knee, drove her sword forward into the parry and reversing her swing, drawing a bloody line from her assailant's ribcage to his shoulder. The numbers of the uruk-hai gathered around Amon Hen were overwhelming, and sooner than the light went out in her opponent's eyes, two more tried to flank Damiarena. Behind her, she could hear the sound of a blade moving quickly towards her exposed back. She stepped forward, just barely out of the range of one blade, to swat a second attack away with a downward stroke of her sword, then quickly sweeping her sword horizontally across and into the third orc's flank. She released her two-handed grip on the longsword, bringing her left arm up and driving her elbow into the jaw of a very surprised attacker who had been revelling in the fantasy of an easy kill and the promise of fresh meat. As the orc on her left reeled back, she removed her bloodied blade from the guts of the orc on her right, arcing her sword across her body again, and over her left shoulder, driving it deep into the foe behind her. The one remaining orc had gathered its wits at that moment, when Damiarena had her sword behind her back, her entire body vulnerable to attack. As the orc lunged at her, its cruel blade aimed at her chest, she used the momentum in her last blow and kicked her feet up, her left kicking at the attacker's swordarm, deflecting the blade and sending it flying harmlessly to her left, as she pushed off with her right foot and sent it into the air to follow her left kick, she brought her right foot across and over, delivering another blow to the orc's skull. Mid-air, she let go of her sword which was still wedged securely in the dead orc behind her, and landed deftly on her feet. Unfortunately, her one last opponent was still standing. A greedy grin spread across the orc's features as it faced off with the unarmed woman. The grin did not last long as a yellow-feathered arrow plunged deep into its' forehead. With more orcs streaming into the fray, Damiarena swiftly knelt to dislodge her bloodied sword from her fallen foe's ribcage.  
  
She took a quick glance towards Legolas, just as his eyes met hers, his concentration wavered for a moment, and she saw him whisper her name silently. With an ache in her heart, she forced her gaze away, moving through the battle like a deadly dancer of blades. Damiarena heard the sound of arrows whizzing through the air, an entire barrage of them released like a force of nature from the hand of the elven archer. For a moment, a wry grin spread over her face for she knew Legolas was just as deadly of a fighter now as he had been years ago. She also knew she did not dare distract him.   
  
Or let his presence distract you... can't stop your father when you're dead... can't... won't lay your eyes on Legolas ever again if you're dead...   
  
As she circled around the stone structure, she encountered yet another whom she knew well... Aragorn, son of Arathorn... though last time she had seen him, he had preferred his moniker of "Strider". As she moved further through the battlefield, over countless bodies of slain uruks, she heard a gravelly, low voice roaring obscenities in a guttural language over the clang of steel.   
  
A dwarf! How strange... maybe there is hope for middle-earth yet... if unity is seen in small cases, it cannot be unattainable...   
  
"ELENDIL!!!!!" came Aragorn's battlecry, strong and clear over the malaise of guttural yells from the uruk's throats.   
  
The inhuman sounds turned to bloody gurgles as countless uruk-hai fell under axe, sword and arrow. In battle, time seemed to slow to a crawl, every thrust and parry of Damiarena's sword seemed to glide through the air as if suspended by some magical force, descending time and again on flesh and bone. Though she took several hits, and dark red splotches were beginning to appear on her deep green garb, the adrenaline that rushed through her veins numbed them entirely. Yet suddenly she was drawn out of her concentration as the sound of a horn blew in quick bursts from below the rise. The sound drew the uruks like a moth to a flame, and the warriors followed in their wake.   
  
As Damiarena ran in pursuit, Legolas and the dwarf came running beside her, cleaving enemies down as they leaped over the bodies.   
  
"It cannot be..." she gasped.   
  
"The horn of Gondor... Boromir is in need..." Legolas replied. 


	2. chapter 2 meetings and partings

pardon the use of ubb code, but unfortunately the only format that I can produce that is accepted by this site is .txt which does not allow for any sort of formatting. Therefore I have used ubb code to identify italics, since I do include a fair amount of "monologues" so to speak in this particular piece of writing. For those who are not familiar with ubb code, it goes as follows:  
  
[i] insert text here [/i] ---italics  
  
[b] insert text here [/b] ---bold  
  
those are the only two ubb codes I will be using, so hopefully it will clear up more than confuse. Hope you readers are enjoying this story.  
  
chapter 2  
  
The three moved through the trees quickly, the two elves gracefully leaping over obstacles, while the dwarf let his axe and stout frame move anything in his path. The sound of the horn rang through the trees several more times, sounding more urgent by the moment.   
  
All of a sudden, several uruk-hai turned to see that pursuit was hot on their trail, and stood to fight. They did not stand for long, but lay in humbled heaps upon the fallen leaves. Damiarena, Legolas, and the dwarf who briefly introduced himself as Gimli, son of Gloin; he did not think it appropriate to be standing alongside someone in battle without a brief introduction; met even more resistance along the way. Several more of the uruks had heard the inevitable noise of the small scuffle and had turned to fight.  
  
Legolas brougth forth his bow, and they all fell within mere moments.   
  
"What is it that they are after?" Damiarena asked as they ran on.  
  
"The little ones," Gimli replied in a huff.  
  
"Little ones?" she questioned, dreading the answer.  
  
"Hobbits."  
  
[i]Gandalf must know of this, then... he was always the one most knowledgeable concerning hobbits[/i]  
  
She had no time to ask any more questions, for they had all stopped dead in their tracks, shocked by the sight ahead of them. Boromir of Gondor had fallen... at first glance, it would almost seem as if he were merely resting against a large tree-trunk. But the tale told by the black-feathered arrows protruding from his torso, and his ashen face, spoke differently. In his hand was still clasped his sword, broken near the hilt.  
  
[i]...so much like Elendil himself... appropriate that it was Aragorn who found him so...[/i]  
  
Around Boromir, lay many bodies of slain uruks. Aragorn knelt beside him, still clasping Boromir's hand. As he looked up, his face was drawn with sorrow and streaked with tears as his gaze met their faces.  
  
"Never did I expect to meet you again in so dark an hour," Damiarena spoke with a strained voice, fighting to control the tears she knew wished to rush forth.   
  
[i]Boromir the fair, firstborn son of Denethor... he was destined to be Steward of Gondor... and now... the fates have made their cut. An ill omen is this meeting, I fear for middle earth. I fear for the race of man...[/i]  
  
"Damiarena Di'Isilian. If only our meetings were not always destined to be in times of strife, my heart would feel joy at the promise of your company," Aragorn greeted her. She smiled bitterly.   
  
[i]Yes, my friend, it is always so, perhaps I learned well from Gandalf himself.[/i]  
  
"One comfort we have at this moment, is the company we keep," Legolas spoke, and turned to embrace Damiarena in belated greeting, "Rena, it has been too long since those peaceful days in the halls of my father."  
  
"I fear it will be longer still ere either of us return," she replied, trying to conceal the way he spoke her name tugged at her heart.  
  
[i]If only responsibility were not so heavy a burden. My shoulders are stooped beneath it, there is no room for another's arms around them.[/i]  
  
As if reading her very thoughts, he broke away from the brief embrace. Yet for a moment, his azure eyes met hers, dark as a midnight sea. Damiarena quickly averted her own gaze, instead focusing on the fallen body of Boromir. A sudden pall fell over the group, and they stood with their heads bowed in grief, for it seemed to them plain what had happened.   
  
"What of the hobbits then? I did not see them amidst the skirmish... where is Frodo?" cried Gimli in desperation, sharing a fear that seemed etched in the elf's and the man's face as well.   
  
[i]This must be strange business indeed, his concern seems deeper than just worry over well-being of friends. Is there even time to ask? Do any of us have time to spare at all?[/i]  
  
"I do not know," Aragorn answered wearily, "with his last breath, Boromir told me that the Orcs had taken them captive, I do not believe they are dead. Alas, I did not ask him if Frodo or Sam were with them, not until it was too late. All that I have done today has gone amiss. What is to be done now?"  
  
"First we must tend the fallen," said Legolas, "we cannot leave him lying like carrion among these foul orcs."  
  
"But we must be swift," said Gimli, "he would not wish us to linger on his account. We must give chase to the orcs, if there is any hope of saving the remaining members of the company," the others nodded somberly in agreement. Aragorn stooped down to collect the cloven pieces of the horn of Gondor, while Legolas inspected the black arrows that had felled their companion. A look of confusion swept across his face momentarily, and he continued examining the bodies of the enemy. Silently the elf motioned to Aragorn, lifting up a helmet for him to see. A print of a hand, in rough and hastily pressed white paint, stood in sharp contrast to the dark leather and metal.  
  
"This is not an orcish marking that I have ever encountered," Legolas remarked.  
  
"Nor have I," Aragorn added with trepidation showing in his eyes.  
  
"Saruman. It is his work, that symbol is the white hand of Saruman. These orcs were sent from Isengard itself. As you have seen, they have travelled and fought by the light of day, they are an abomination of an abomination. Somehow the devilry of the white wizard has made orcs into an even fouler breed. Saruman seems to be gaining in power every day, and his dark alliance with Sauron is a force to be feared. Feared and crushed nonetheless," Damiarena declared with a face that showed no emotion, she had veiled her own thoughts with the facade of cold calculation  
  
Grim nods acknowledged her reasoning, the company crestfallen at the enormity of their tasks before them.   
  
"But who shall confront Saruman? All fear his power, and his voice. Only the bravest or the fool would try to lure him out of his tower," Aragorn wondered aloud.  
  
"What of Gandalf the Grey? Aragorn, you were a friend of his as well, has there been word of him?" Damiarena asked, her heart dropping at the dark looks on the others' faces as the words left her mouth. Gimli shifted his feet uneasily, while Aragorn let out a long sigh.  
  
"I fear that Gandalf is beyond speaking... he has fallen into shadow," Legolas spoke softly, the grief clearly marking every word.  
  
"Then no choice is left before me... other than to continue the work of Gandalf... the little work that I had known about prior to his passing."  
  
"You do not mean... you're leaving," Legolas stared intently at the leaves on the ground, not willing to look into her dark eyes.  
  
"Yes. I must. Duty is a heavy burden on all our shoulders, but we must be strong and not buckle beneath its weight if we are to succeed. You all will do what is in your hearts, and I will do what is necessary," her voice was stern and cold in her announcement, a voice her father had taught her to use. She now used it most when trying to conceal emotion, it was easier that way.  
  
"Rena, would it be too much to ask where it is that you must go? I fear that you speak of a place dark and foreboding... i can almost see the darkness in my mind..." Legolas asked of her pleadingly.  
  
"I will travel to Fangorn. The borders of the forest must be protected from Isengard. The shepherds of the forest must be warned that the white wizard will be guest nor friend to them any longer."  
  
"It is not safe to travel into Fangorn, even for you! And to be so close to Isengard is perilous for you especially!" Legolas cried out, his voice straining with worry.   
  
"Nevertheless, I have no choice. Farewell, my friends, and good hunting to you all." She quickly turned and stalked away from them, not casting a single look over her shoulder. She bit down on her lower lip, the little flash of pain sobering her, making it that much easier to just walk away.  
  
[i]Farewell, Legolas of Mirkwood.... I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me... forgive me yet another time...[/i] 


	3. chapter 3 the mirror of Galadriel

Damiarena had spent several days traveling on foot when she finally came into the borders of Lothlorien. She was footsore, her clothes still partially covered in orc-blood, and longing for a cooked meal.   
  
She was greeted by the tree wardens, and immediately granted audience with Galadriel. Most knew that Damiarena shared blood-ties with the lady of the wood, her mother being the grand-daughter of Orodreth, Galadriel's brother. They were eager to oblige her requests. She was taken to one of the great platforms in the mallyrn trees. Galadriel and Celeborn were both already in the middle of their evening meal.  
  
The three spoke of the pressing events of middle earth, and it was not a joyous reunion of brethren sharing a meal, it was more akin to generals discussing battle-tactics. Damiarena was taken to a place to rest, and even with all the disconcerting thoughts reeling in her mind, sleep found her almost as soon as she closed her eyes.  
  
It was at the most an hour before the sun would rise when she was awakened by Galadriel's footsteps, it was a deliberate action she knew, for the elf could refrain from making a single sound when she chose. Damiarena rose and followed her kinswoman.   
  
"Come, your heart is heavy. Perhaps the mirror shall cast some light on the darkness," she spoke softly as she almost floated down the steps into the small clearing containing the mirror. The two elfwomen were silent as Galadriel slowly poured water into the basin. A deep silence surrounded them, not even the scurrying noises of small animals could be heard. Damiarena watched the last drops hit the gathering pool apprehensively.  
  
The water was dark, and suddenly it began to almost swirl with light as images came into focus. Her heart ached as she saw the familiar trees of Mirkwood, a place that had felt like home to her for hundreds of years. She saw familiar faces, paths in the wood that she had walked down countless times, and she could stand to bear it no longer. As she sought to look away, her gaze was held fast by the darkness that crept over the wood. Hundreds of orcs, streaming in through the trees, hacking, burning, tearing defenseless elven children apart with their bare hands. It seemed as if the people of Mirkwood had been caught unawares, and the wood was consumed by death. The image slowly faded, and she could then see the charred remains of many trees around the hall of Thranduil. The wood was blackened, and the people who stood around the entrance were shrouded in black. Laying in the middle of the hall on a stone brier was the body of King Thranduil. His once eternaly youthful face was pale, his hands folded atop his chest. She could hear the weeping of many men and women fill the hall, echoing mournfully. The throne at the back wall of the massive hall stood empty.  
  
Damiarena could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she saw the mirror clear.  
  
[i] Please, show me no more... let that be all... let that be all... it is enough.... [/i]  
  
Yet the mirror stirred anew with yet another vision. Once again it showed her the hall of Mirkwood, yet this time the throne was not empty. Upon the throne sat Legolas, son of Thranduil, rightful heir of Mirkwood. Beside him on the throne reserved for the Queen was a woman with a cold beauty, eyes the colour of a frozen lake, flaxen hair tumbling to her waist in loose waves. A mirthless smile was on her lips, which were as pale as her skin. It was then that Damiarena noticed that the people gathered before the two thrones were all dressed in rags, their faces dirty and sorrowful, the children looking famished, their cheeks sunken. Upon the handsome face of Legolas, tears slowly made their way down. The woman on the other throne was clutching a small   
  
dagger in her hand, and she began to laugh.  
  
[i] Who is this elven woman? And what is the meaning of this all... why would he let his people starve... why would he let his people suffer so... oh the misery, the hurt in their faces... they were there to beg for the compassion they came to expect from him... weren't they... oh let it stop, let it stop... how much sorrow must i see? how much darkness can there be in the future? [/i]  
  
Yet the mirror would not relent, for it cleared and then swirled with more colours, for a third time showing her the hall, the thrones, the man she had loved for far too long. This time his face showed no emotion, and beside him sat a woman with a rosy complexion, rich brown hair and a pleasant smile. She held his hand affectionately, yet he did not seem to notice. Then began a stirring in the people gathered, and suddenly the vision came to an end. Slowly the hall was revealed again in the waters of the mirrow, showing naught but a tomb. The woman with the pleasant smile stood over the tomb weeping, her face pale and drawn. A single white lily she placed on the tomb. The mirror went black, and a thick white smoke poured forth, as if the water had been heated by the turmoil within the visions.  
  
Damiarena stared into the empty water, not knowing how to react, her tears making small ripples in the water. Her heart was pounding wildly within her chest, and a painful knot had been building in the back of her throat. She dared not speak, for she knew her voice would break.  
  
"The mirror has shown you things that have not yet come to pass. If the path you have chosen is tread, that is where it shall end. There are two forks, they both end in sorrow," Galadriel spoke softly, yet firmly. It was hard to ignore a voice such as hers.  
  
"Dearest kinswoman, the mirror has shown us the fate of one I value more than my own life. It is a dark fate no matter which fork the path takes, what is it that i must do to spare him such pain?" Damiarena finally spoke through her tears. She looked up at Galadriel's calm facade pleadingly.  
  
"Perhaps I may find one more answer..." she answered as she poured more water into the mirror. Damiarena did not claim to know much of the magics that fueled the mirror, but one thing she was certain of. It was not wise to consult the mirror more than once in a night, for most minds were too weak to accept knowing so much of what was to come. Foresight was the bane of hope more often than not, and most who had asked too much of the mirror had fallen into madness. Yet Galadriel knew the strengths and weaknesses of her kinswoman well, and did not wish to let matters stand as they were.   
  
Damiarena pleaded silently in her heart for answers to ease her troubled mind as the mirror started showing brighter colours once more. The walls of Minas Tirith were clear, and soon the mirror drew focus inside it's walls. A large chamber, the King's audience chamber she recognized, appeared before her. It was filled with people in bright garb, flowers in women's hair, and the pink freshly scrubbed cheeks of small children beamed with excited grins. Lively music played, and everyone in the hall cheered loudly as Aragorn stood.   
  
[i] King Elessar... so you shall be known, old friend. My heart is at ease knowing that at least you will live to fulfill a joyful fate... [/i]  
  
She was surprised to find that he was standing over two elves; one with hair that shone like the rays of morning's light, the other with hair as dark as a moonless night. They both rose to their feet, and her heart froze.   
  
[i] Why... that's me... now what in the Valar's names would I be dressed like that for? Even on days of celebration I have never taken to wearing dresses such as that... much too frivolous.... even when I first came to meet the Elven-King of Mirkwood I wore a far simpler dress... [/i]  
  
She was standing before King Elessar with a stange light in her eyes as Legolas stood beside her. Their hands were clasped together in front of them, and a long white ribbon was placed across their interlacing fingers. King Elessar took a step towards the two, the crowd immediately hushed and tied the ribbon into a loose bow. Cheers rose from the audience, filling the entire hall and streaming into the streets. Damiarena saw no more of the scene as it faded into the hall in Mirkwood once more.  
  
[i] oh please no more sorrow, I beg of you.... let no more tears be shed in the woodland realm... [/i]  
  
She only saw the people in the hall, all well-dressed and rejoicing. The image faded once more, and a deep, dark wood came into the water. She saw herself dressed in plain clothing once more, stooping over an athelas plant, picking the little flowers carefully. From the shadows themselves came a man, his face serious beneath a neatly cropped white beard, a halo of light around his head as it reflected off of his silver hair. Dark blue robes with runes of power embroidered in silver thread stirred silently in the breeze. In his hand he held a longsword, and brought it forth in a powerful thrust, catching her straight through her back and out her chest. She saw herself arch her back in agony, then take one last look at the sword-point before her eyes, dark with her own blood. The wizard in blue robes withdrew the sword and walked away without a single glance back.   
  
As the mirror steamed and hissed, Damiarena reeled back, clutching at her chest, stumbling backwards through the roots on the ground. She caught herself on one of the stone embankments surrounding the clearing, and stared forward at nothing with wide eyes.  
  
"Damiarena Di'Isilian," Galadriel's voice speaking her name firmly snapped her back into the present world, "I have seen what you have seen. Tell me, kinswoman, do you truly value the life of the elven prince over yours?"  
  
"Yes," Damiarena managed to gasp.  
  
"Then nothing remains to be said. But remember, your path still lies before you. Choose wisely."  
  
She was given a horse, and rode out of Lothlorien with a heavy silence encircling her. Galadriel did not offer her any warm words of parting, for she knew that they would be unheard. 


End file.
